Keeping in Touch
by Helene Fyne
Summary: Claire and Sylar are both moving on with their lives, but find it's easier to stay connected with each other.


Claire was painting her toenails a sparkly pink when she heard a knock at her door. "Come in," she called, in the middle of her second coat and unwilling to pause.

Gabriel stood by the door. If it were anyone else, the stance would look awkward or hesitant; for him it looked respectful and almost chivalrous. "May I come in?"

"I said you could, didn't I?" Claire replied, glancing at him for only a moment before returning her attention to her toes. "There are drinks in the fridge if you're thirsty."

"I'm not."

Claire let him stand in silence for a minute before speaking up, "Can I help you?"

He shrugged nonchalantly. "I don't know. I just haven't seen any familiar faces in a while. Thought I'd come see you."

"Yeah?"

Gabriel smirked, for no reason other than that it looked good on him. He knew it irritated Claire, in part because she was attracted to it. "Yes."

She sighed, putting the pink nail polish aside in favor of a clear top coat. "Just grab yourself a beer and sit down. I'll be done in a minute and then I can devote all my attention to you."

He did as he was told, opening the refrigerator only to groan at the contents. "Natural Light? Could you pick a crappier beer?"

"I'm an American teenager, remember? I'm not supposed to have sophisticated taste in alcohol. Just drink it and deal with it." Claire stood to put her pedicure supplies away before grabbing herself a can. "You going to catch me up? How long has it been?"

"Eight months and three weeks," he replied promptly, with no apparent shame that he was keeping such close track of the time passed. Claire had no immediate answer, though, and the only sound was of the two of them drinking. "What have you been up to?" he asked eventually.

"Umm…" She set down her beer and began winding a strand of hair around her index finger. "Not a lot. I don't see many people either, so I spend my time going to work and dating guys who are way too young for me." She looked at Gabriel closely for signs of distaste or judgment, but he nodded congenially—as though he hadn't expected anything else, and he wasn't displeased with her answer. He only asked with apparent amusement:

"How much younger?"

"Oh, you know. Boys who look the same age as I do. Men who are closer to you. The usual."

He nodded. He hadn't been in touch with Claire for a while, but the chances that she had changed significantly in the past months were almost zero—their time for change was long past. It wasn't really like either of them anyway.

"So how are things?" she asked casually. He smiled dryly.

"About the same as you. I work. I play. And yes, the women are very young."

Claire snickered. She found it rather darkly ironic that he could make that statement to the only other person in his situation—who just so happened to be more than ten years younger than he. "We're really bad people."

Gabriel's handsome face sobered a little at her careless statement. "We might be bad, but there's always worse." Claire's eyes rolled at his sudden seriousness; in the time since he had discovered his sense of empathy, Sylar had managed to find a happy medium between the uber-nerd he had once been and the darkly erotic killer he had become, but he occasionally sank into bouts of melancholy over his past deeds.

"I was thinking," she started, then stopped, then started again, "I was thinking maybe I'd visit Peter this month. Do you think you'd have time to go with me?"

He downed the last of his beer and sighed heavily. "I don't know, Claire."

They were both silent for a long time, both knowing that if Gabriel didn't accompany her that it was likely neither of them would see Peter for a while. Neither said the obvious, that the reason they no longer saw anyone from the old days was because it was intensely uncomfortable to see how their acquaintances and friends had aged. Peter was in a nursing home now, at the age of 73, and no one else was doing much better.

Sometimes it was just easier to pretend that everyone else had already died.

"If you ever get tired of hanging out with men that are too young for you," he said with a little smile, "give me a call. We'll do dinner."

She smiled back, taking comfort in the fact that he'd be around as long as she was. "I'll do that."

* * *

A/N: Hi everyone. It's short, but this is a oneshot I wrote about a week ago. Hope you like it!

-Chuck


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